When your racing speeds the chasing, Wide and far the clamours swell.

Hard blows whistle from the bristle Of the temples to the thigh, Heavy handed as the land-flood, Who will turn ye, or make fly?

Many a man has drunk an ocean Healths to Charlie, to the gorge, Broken many a gla.s.s proposing Weal to him and woe to George; But, 'tis feat of greater glory Far, than stoups of wine to trowl, One draught of vengeance deep and gory, Yea, than to drain the thousandth bowl!

Show ye, prove ye, ye are true all, Join ye to your clans your cheer!

Nor heed though wife and child pursue all, Bidding you to fight, forbear.

Sinew-l.u.s.ty, spirit-trusty, Gallant in your loyal pride, By your hacking, low as bracken Stretch the foe the turf beside.

Our stinging kerne of aspect stern That love the fatal game, That revel rife till drunk with strife, And dye their cheeks with flame, Are strange to fear;--their broadswords shear Their foemen's crested brows, The red-coats feel the barb of steel, And hot its venom glows.

The few have won fields, many a one, In grappling conflicts' play; Then let us march, nor let our hearts A start of fear betray.

Come gushing forth, the trusty North, Macshimei,[145] loyal Gordon; And prances high their chivalry, And death-dew sits each sword on.

[138] Here Morag's musical performance on the flute, form the subject of a panegyric, in which Urlar, Siubhal, and Crunluath are imitated.

[139] "Round as the shield of my fathers."--_Ossian_.

[140] The French military costume, distinguished by its white colour, was a.s.sumed by the Jacobites.

[141] "Come, and I will give you flesh," a Highland war-cry invoking the birds and beasts of prey to their b.l.o.o.d.y revel.

[142] Macdonald of Sleat, Macleod, and others, first hesitated, and finally withheld themselves from the party of the white c.o.c.kade.

[143] Flag.

[144] Warrior.

[145] Lovat and his clan.

JOHN ROY STUART.

John Roy Stuart was a distinguished officer in the Jacobite army of 1745. He was the son of a farmer in Strathspey, who gave him a good education, and procured him a commission in a Highland regiment, which at the period served in Flanders. His military experiences abroad proved serviceable in the cause to which he afterwards devoted himself. In the army of Prince Charles Edward, he was entrusted with important commands at Gladsmuir, Clifton, Falkirk, and Culloden; and he was deemed of sufficient consequence to be pursued by the government with an amount of vigilance which rendered his escape almost an approach to the miraculous. An able military commander, he was an excellent poet. His "Lament for Lady Macintosh" has supplied one of the most beautiful airs in Highland music.[146] In the second of his pieces on the battle of Culloden, translated for the present work, the lamentation for the absence of the missing clans, and the night march to the field, are executed with the skill and address of a genuine bard, while the story of the battle is recited with the fervour of an honourable partisan.

Stuart died abroad in circ.u.mstances not differing from those of the best and bravest, who were engaged in the same unhappy enterprise.

[146] See the Rev. Patrick Macdonald's Collection, No. 106.

LAMENT FOR LADY MACINTOSH.

This is the celebrated heroine who defended her castle of Moy, in the absence of her husband, and, with other exploits, achieved the surprisal of Lord Loudon's party in their attempt to seize Prince Charles Edward, when he was her guest. Information had been conveyed by some friendly unknown party, of a kind so particular as to induce the lady to have recourse to the following stratagem. She sent the blacksmith on her estate, at the head of a party of other seven persons, with instructions to lie in ambush, and at a particular juncture to call out to the clans to come on and hew to pieces "the scarlet soldiers," as were termed the royalist troops. The feint succeeded, and is known in Jacobite story as the "Route of Moy." The exploit is pointedly alluded to in the Elegy, which is replete with beauty and pathos.

Does grief appeal to you, ye leal, Heaven's tears with ours to blend?

The halo's veil is on, and pale The beams of light descend.

The wife repines, the babe declines, The leaves prolong their bend, Above, below, all signs are woe, The heifer moans her friend.

The taper's glow of waxen snow, The ray when noon is nigh, Was far out-peer'd, till disappear'd Our star of morn, as high The southern west its blast released, And drown'd in floods the sky-- Ah woe! was gone the star that shone, Nor left a visage dry For her, who won as win could none The people's love so well.

O, welaway! the dirging lay That rung from Moy its knell; Alas, the hue, where orbs of blue, With roses wont to dwell!

How can we think, nor swooning sink, To earth them in the cell?

Silk wrapp'd thy frame, as lily stem, And snowy as its flower, So once, and now must love allow, The grave chest such a dower!

The fairest shoot of n.o.ble root A blast could overpower; 'Tis woman's meed for chieftain's deed, That bids our eyes to shower.

Beseems his grief the princely chief, Who reins the charger's pride, And gives the gale the silken sail, That flaps the standard's side; Who from the hall where sheds at call, The generous sh.e.l.l its tide, And from the tower where Meiners'[147] power Prevails, brought home such bride.

[147] She was a daughter of Menzies of that Ilk, in Perthshire. The founder of the family was a De Moyeners, in the reign of William the Lion. The name in Gaelic continued to testify to its original, being _Meini_, or _Meinarach_.

THE DAY OF CULLODEN.

Ah, the wound of my breast! Sinks my heart to the dust, And the rain-drops of sorrow are watering the ground; So impa.s.sive to hear, never pierces my ear, Or briskly or slowly, the music of sound.

For, what tidings can charm, while emotion is warm With the thought of my Prince on his travel unknown; The royal in blood, by misfortune subdued, While the base-born[148] by hosts is secured on the throne?

Of the hound is the race that has wrought our disgrace, Yet the boast of the litter of mongrels is small, Not the arm of your might makes it boast of our flight, But the musters that failed at the moment of call-- Five banners were furl'd that might challenge the world, Of their silk not a pennon was spread to the day; Where is Cromarty's earl, with the fearless of peril, Young Barisdale's following, Mackinnon's array?

Where the sons of the glen,[149] the Clan-gregor, in vain That never were hail'd to the carnage of war-- Where Macvurich,[150] the child of victory styled?

How we sigh'd when we learn'd that his host was afar!

Clan-donuil,[151] my bosom friend, woe that the blossom That crests your proud standard, for once disappear'd, Nor marshall'd your march, where your princely deserts Without stain might the cause of the right have uprear'd!

And now I say woe, for the sad overthrow Of the clan that is honour'd with Frazer's[152] command, And the Farquharsons[153] bold on the Mar-braes enroll'd, So ready to rise, and so trusty to stand.

But redoubled are shed my tears for the dead, As I think of Clan-chattan,[154] the foremost in fight; Oh, woe for the time that has shrivell'd their prime, And woe that the left[155] had not stood at the right!

Our sorrows bemoan gentle Donuil the Donn, And Alister Rua the king of the feast; And valorous Raipert the chief of the true-heart, Who fought till the beat of its energy ceased.

In the mist of that night vanish'd stars that were bright, Nor by tally nor price shall their worth be replaced; Ah, boded the morning of our brave unreturning, When it drifted the clouds in the rush of its blast.

As we march'd on the hill, such the floods that distil, Turning dry bent to bog, and to plash-pools the heather, That friendly no more was the ridge of the moor, Nor free to our tread, and the ire of the weather Anon was inflamed by the lightning untamed, And the hail rush that storm'd from the mouth of the gun, Hard pelted the stranger, ere we measured our danger, And broadswords were masterless, marr'd, and undone.[156]

Sure as answers my song to its t.i.tle, a wrong To our forces, the wiles of the traitor[157] have wrought; To each true man's disgust, the leader in trust Has barter'd his honour, and infamy bought.

His gorget he spurns, and his mantle[158] he turns, And for gold he is won, to his sovereign untrue; But a turn of the wheel to the liar will deal, From the south or the north, the award of his due.

And fell William,[159] the son of the man on the throne, Be his emblem the leafless, the marrowless tree; May no sapling his root, and his branches no fruit Afford to his hope; and his hearth, let it be As barren and bare--not a partner to share, Not a brother to love, not a babe to embrace; Mute the harp, and the taper be smother'd in vapour, Like Egypt, the darkness and loss of his race!

Oh, yet shall the eye see thee swinging on high, And thy head shall be pillow'd where ravens shall prey, And the lieges each one, from the child to the man, The monarch by right shall with fondness obey.

[148] George the First's Queen was a divorcee. The Jacobites retorted the alleged spuriousness of the Chevalier de St George, on George II., the reigning Sovereign.

[149] _Glengyle_, and his Macgregors, were on their way from the Sutherland expedition, but did not reach in time to take part in the action.

[150] Macpherson of Clunie, the hero of the night skirmish at Clifton, and with his clan, greatly distinguished in the Jacobite wars.

[151] Macdonald of the Isles refused to join the Prince.

[152] Of the routed army, the division whereof the Frazers formed the greater number fled to Inverness. Being the least considerable in force, they were pursued by the Duke of c.u.mberland's light horse, and almost entirely ma.s.sacred.

[153] The Farquharsons formed part of the unfortunate right wing in the battle, and suffered severely.

[154] The Mackintoshes, whose impetuosity hurried the right wing into action before the order to engage had been transmitted over the lines.